Remembrance of Things Past
by Clotho
Summary: It's 1830, and certain chickens are coming home to roost. Short and angst-laden


Remembrance of Things Past  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters nor their past history. They belong to the C. S. Forester estate and A&E productions.  
  
Warning: This is not a cheerful story and it probably won't suit die-hard Pellew fans. Can be read as a companion to my previous fic, 'Paternal Love', or as a stand-alone.  
  
*********************  
  
1830  
  
The Coronation of the Sailor King was a plain affair. Admiral Lord Exmouth, who had once been simply Edward Pellew, approved. He was slow of movement now, walked with a stick, but he had been determined to attend. It would be good to see old faces, and many younger ones.  
  
Like the man he was now addressing, a minister in Wellington's government until its recent fall.  
  
"You were fortunate to miss the last Coronation. A terrible monument to vulgarity."  
  
So I've heard," replied Admiral Lord Hornblower, who had been overseas when George IV turned Westminster Abbey into a gigantic fancy dress party.  
  
Exmouth had gone to some pains to arrange a seat opposite Hornblower at the banquet - a plain and unpretentious affair - which followed the service. Talking across the table was considered poor manners by some, but he could always plead the allowance of age.  
  
"You really should come down and visit some time. I know you're a busy man, but it would do you good to get away for a while."  
  
"I don't wish to impose." Hornblower replied.  
  
"No imposition. Call it a favour to a very old man, rather. I've not seen as much of you over the years as I'd have liked." Hornblower did not answer. "It was always necessary to maintain a certain distance while we were both serving officers, but I hope you know that I have always held you as dear as my own sons."  
  
"Please do not lie to me."  
  
"It is no lie!" Exmouth exclaimed. "Why would I lie?"  
  
"I don't know why."  
  
"Then how can you accuse me of it?"  
  
"Because," Hornblower said calmly, "I've known since Kingston in '02 you'd throw me to the wolves if it suited you. And I may not always have been the best of fathers to Richard, but if he was in that kind of a mess I'd move heaven and earth to save him."  
  
"I did all I could."  
  
"No, you did not. Credit me with some intelligence, please. You may have attempted to shift the blame to Buckland, but that was too little too late. I don't know what went on behind the scenes there, but I do know that you were prepared to let someone hang regardless of whether any crime had been committed, and you must have known that it might well be me. You did not have to let Hammond run the start of the trial as he saw fit. You did not have to let Clive's story go unchallenged - I'd told you what had really happened. You did *not* do all you could."  
  
He paused, apparently to see if there would be an answer, but Exmouth was speechless.  
  
"Do you know, I would probably have gone to my grave believing *I'd* let *you* down. I admired you very much. I wanted to believe that if you were abandoning me it was because I deserved it." The cool, emotionless tone in which the words were delivered was deeply unnerving. "Yes, I'd not have held my own death against you. But did you really imagine I could forgive you for Archie Kennedy's?"  
  
"He would have died in any event," Exmouth said hoarsely.  
  
"Perhaps, perhaps not." This time Hornblower's voice did waver slightly. He looked down at his plate for a couple of moments before recovering composure. On either side their neighbours were absorbed in determined conversation with each other, deliberately deaf to the surrounding tension. "But that's not really important. What's important is that it wouldn't have made any difference if he'd been whole and healthy. Your Tribunal were set on a death, never mind whose it was. And none of you cared that he had as much - more - right to retain his good name as Captain Sawyer."  
  
Exmouth collected himself ehough to say, "My duty to the Navy...."  
  
"I tried to believe that at the time." Still the level, inexorable tone. "But it won't do. I'm more than experienced enough these days to know that there were other ways of covering up. No-one was about to make the truth public. Even if they had, how much would it have mattered? The war was on the brink of ending, how many people would have cared that there had been one too-old captain on the world's far side?  
  
"And do not attempt to tell me you couldn't have kept Hammond in check much better than you did. I've seen you deal with juniors. I was your junior. I've never seen you act that way at any other time. Perhaps the the Admiralty would have been angry that a captain had been relieved of command without punishment, but .... well, no point in preaching. But Kingston was wrong, utterly wrong, and in my soul I knew it."  
  
"If you feel that way," said Exmouth in shaken tones, "I'm surprised you stayed in the service at all."  
  
"I was a coward," Hornblower answered, not one whit discomposed. "I had no money, no-where to go, no training for anything except the Navy. I told myself he wouldn't want me to starve. Later, when I could have afforded to leave, there was Barbara to think of, and Richard too.  
  
"I married Barbara for a good many wrong reasons. I made her unhappy, especially in the first few years. I was very much to blame there. Barbara wanted me to be a pillar of society, still does. She wants me to engage in politics and support that damned snobbish, reactionary brother of hers. And I want her to be happy, I owe her that. And Richard cares more for her than he does for me. She may not be his mother in blood, but she's been a much better parent to him than I have. If she is unhappy, it distresses him too. They are alive, and Archie is not, so they deserve first claim.  
  
"I don't believe in life after death. And I'm very glad of it. I couldn't bear to think Archie knew what a mess I've made of the gift he gave me."  
  
"A mess? Your life has been a triumph!"  
  
"By your standards." Hornblower's lip curled. "Was that what it was all about? As long as I was succeeding in the Navy's terms you were proud to be my mentor, but when I was threatened with disgrace, if you'd touch me with a boat-hook it was as much as you would do."  
  
"No." Exmouth whispered. "No, that's not how it was."  
  
"What is my record? I've married two women for the wrong reasons, and made them both unhappy. I've got a son I barely know. I've left a trail of death behind me, and I'm not speaking of my enemies. I don't like that hideous mansion Barbara's so pleased with, I don't like politics or high society, and I certainly don't like the knowledge that I've spent my life serving the institution that treated him worse than dirt." Still his voice was expressionless, but he was staring hard at the table. "He was the only person who ever valued me simply as myself, not as the rising naval officer. Sometimes I think my life since Kingston has been one long betrayal of him. And the fact that he'd forgive me without question makes it worse."  
  
"Why," Exmouth whispered slowly, "are you saying all this to me?"  
  
"Who else is there?" Hornblower said, and looked directly into Exmouth's eyes. "Call me weak. Call me a hypocrite. But I'm not a fool, and if Kingston was your idea of paternal love then I thank God that I am not your son."  
  
They did not speak again. 


End file.
